


alone together

by annperkinsface



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga), Devilman Crybaby - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annperkinsface/pseuds/annperkinsface
Summary: They were both Miki once.





	alone together

They were both Miki once.

No one remembers, not even Makimura. Makimura, who used to catch her eye during stretches when someone would call their name and grin and now doesn't look at her at all, no humor or apology, just their old secret turned sour, what was once theirs now only hers. Makimura is Miki and Miki becomes Miko and Miko learns to swallow and not let her resentment show, to keep her head down and finish double knotting the laces on her track shoes. She straightens. Inevitably, inexorably, her gaze is drawn to Miki, her eyes catching on the insides of Miki’s thighs, wrists, the sweat glimmering in her collarbones, the long, pale line of Miki’s throat.

Miki looks over and smiles. She says something quietly to Fudo who nods and starts heading down the track without her. Then she is jogging over, raising her hand in a wave.

“Miko!” Warm, earnest. “Hey, you want to get ice cream? My treat!”

No, Miko thinks, just to weigh it on her tongue, savoring it like a wine. Indulges in a thought exercise: Miki’s face collapsing, the way she would hastily hide her disappointment. Alternatively: Miki not reacting outwardly at all, just smiling and walking home with Fudo. It burns. It shouldn't but it does. Miko forces a smile, swallowing it the same way she does everything else. “Sure.”

Walking together is nothing like running. She isn't chasing at Miki’s back, no sense of having to push faster, further. In these moments the chasm between them almost seems like a figment of her overactive imagination, just two girls walking side by side down the tree dotted streets and commiserating over their grades on a math test. Miko scored four points higher. Miki elbows her, saying Miko should help her study. It’s stupid, how it feels enough like a victory for Miko to smile and mean it, to elbow Miki back. Miki laughs, the sound surprised, her smile incandescent.

Miko thinks: Sometimes I don't hate you at all.

Sometimes—

They stop at a convenience store. Miki gets the ice cream while Miko stays near the front, rifling through the magazines and wishing she wasn’t wearing a tank top. She can feel the gaze of the part timer at the counter, heavy on her breasts. Her skin crawls. She puts down a gossip rag and picks up the next one without looking at it, pretending to be busy in the hopes that he will lose interest and look away. She pages through it absentmindedly and stops on a glossy spread of Miki, all her breath leaving her throat. Miki looks like herself, bright and beautiful, and Miko unthinkingly crinkles the page, her throat tight, stomach hot. What was a math test to this? The witch, the shining star? The only Miki that matters, will ever matter? Miko wants to rip the editorial to shreds, wants to chew Miki up and spit her out, wants to be free of the disease that is Makimura Miki once and for all.

“Whatcha got there?” Miki’s voice too close for comfort. Miko jerks and looks over her shoulder with the uncomfortable feeling of being caught red-handed but Miki leans in and laughs, sweet smelling hair brushing Miko’s cheek. “Oh, wow, can you believe they edited out my stretch marks? Leg hair too. Jeez. Like whose legs are they, you know?”

“Maybe some other track and field superstar’s,” Miko says, because Miki is warm and expectant and has a plastic bag of convenience store ice cream for the two of them hanging off her arm. They're supposed to be friends. They _are_ friends. Aren't they?

Miki says, “Maybe,” and dimples a little, a magazine editorial in the flesh. Miko looks at the boy at the counter. He's not looking at her at all, just Miki. Always Miki. Miko doesn't understand how that makes her feel. Protective? Resentful? Her mind and stomach keep churning violently. “I got your favorite. You still like grape, right?”

"Yeah. I do. Thanks.”

They park down on a curb, sitting close enough for Miki’s leg to brush hers. Miko wants to move hers away but it would be too obvious. They have been in this moment hundreds of times. The crinkling of tinfoil as they take out their ice cream is a familiar sound, as familiar as Miki’s sideways smile, the red smeared around her mouth. “Good, right, Miko?”

Miko stares. Her ice cream drips over her hand, onto the curb. She thinks, not for the first or last time: My name is Miki.

“Yeah,” Miko says, looking away and taking a bite. There is a burst of flavor on her tongue and she is careful to not make a face. It's sweeter than she remembers. “Yeah, it's good.”

**Author's Note:**

> my fave brand of femslash is flavored with jealousy, self hatred and inferiority issues ok!!!
> 
> comments are my life's blood y'all


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